


Cement

by PekoIsBaby



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: And still survives the game, Archivist Kyoko, Avatar of the End Nekomaru canon, F/M, Man dies like 3 times, These are WILD TAGS my gosh, You don't need to listen to TMA, i think, i wrote this for me and only me, never thought I'd type that out, read the trigger warnings, the magnus archives au, there are a lot of them - Freeform, this wrote itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29638092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PekoIsBaby/pseuds/PekoIsBaby
Summary: Statement of Nekomaru Nidai, regarding a series of deaths. Original statement given February 22, 2012. Audio recording by Kyoko Kirigiri, head archivist of The Magnus Institute, London.Statement begins.
Relationships: Nidai Nekomaru/Owari Akane
Comments: 16
Kudos: 4





	Cement

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY! This is,, a weird one. 
> 
> So, I’ve been listening to The Magnus Archives, or TMA (it’s a horror audio drama podcast) for,, a while now, and recently I got RIDICULOUSLY into it. Like, ‘listened to the third, fourth, and fifth season in ~a week” into it. It’s joining The Adventure Zone and Danganronpa in the Current Hyperfixations Hall Of Fame, as it were. I’m terrified of what’s going to happen, but I’m so in love with this podcast and would ABSOLUTELY recommend it to anyone who’s interested in spooks, queer representation up the ass, and a healthy amount of emotional pain. Seriously, I am not a horror writer and wish I could hold 2/3 of Jonny Sims's talent for atmospheric writing in my left pinky, so this does Not do justice to the sheer creepiness (and then ANGST) of the podcast. 
> 
> That being said. When I was thinking of what I wanted to write for Nekomaru’s birthday, I was, admittedly, a little stuck. Nekomaru is a character that I absolutely adore, but he’s not someone that comes naturally to me. Then, I got obsessed with TMA. And this was born. Gotta say, Nekomaru probably wasn’t the best choice for a statement-giver, given the cool, British horror-y tone of the podcast and Nekomaru’s. Speaking Pattern. But I did my best. Just imagine Kyoko reading it or Nekomaru struggling to write it with minimal uses of the word ‘shit’ and you’ll be fine. 
> 
> Because I realize that Danganronpa and TMA probably don’t have fandoms that overlap a lot, I’ll provide the TINY amount of context you need for this fic to make sense (it’s really not a lot, it stands alone pretty easily): 
> 
> The podcast takes place largely revolving around The Magnus Institute, which takes stories or ‘statements’ from people about supernatural encounters they’ve experienced, then looks into them, tries to deal with them, etc. The Archives are where these statements get,,, uh,,, archived,, and the Archivist (protagonist ‘Jon’ in the podcast) oversees the Archives. He (or, in my DR AU, she) has been committing the statements to tape so that he can organize them better and do follow-up with the help of his research team (in the podcast, Tim, Sasha, and Martin, and then a ton of other people. Here… who knows). And that’s it. That is all you need to know for this fic to make sense. 
> 
> Sorry, I know this is a REALLY niche topic to cover, but I wanted to and it’s my AO3 so I choose the obsessions to merge!!! /lh
> 
> That being said! Tiny, implied, minor, itty-bitty spoilers for TMA (plus,, I mean I stole the idea for Nekomaru’s statement from episode 155 of the podcast and ran with it, so kinda spoilers for that?), and absolutely zero spoilers for SDR2 unless you don’t wanna know a very twisted version of Nekomaru’s backstory. There are, however, spoilers in the tags. Because I am useless and wanted to make a joke. Apologies. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings (Oh boy)  
> -Cursing  
> -Death  
> -Loss  
> -Grief  
> -Being forgotten  
> -Supernatural interference  
> -Near-death experiences  
> -Pretty explicit descriptions of death  
> -Also, pretty explicit descriptions of exploding/burning  
> -Not sure exactly how to word this one, but a level of comfort with the death of others that might upset some people
> 
> I think that’s it! Enjoy!

“Statement of Nekomaru Nidai, regarding a series of deaths. Original statement given February 22, 2012. Audio recording by Kyoko Kirigiri, head archivist of The Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

I was supposed to die years ago.

I don’t really talk about it a ton, mostly because it gets people down, but it’s true. My heart was always pretty weak, I spent time in and out of hospitals for a lot of my childhood… I’ll spare you the sob story. It won’t help you to understand.

Have you ever nearly died? It sucks shit, that’s for sure, but there’s more to it than that. It’s stark. I spent my whole life going with the flow, rolling with the punches, other idioms that I’m only partly sure I’m using right… you get the drill. My point is that dying - or coming close to it, whatever - doesn’t let you. No matter how hard you’ve worked to be easygoing, you aren’t gonna want to die. That’s what scares me, I think. I wonder if, somewhere inside, I asked for this. If it was my choice, in whatever fucked up way it could be.

I had a friend in the hospital. Kurashiki Central Hospital, if you need that for research or whatever. This was when I was 8, or 9, and it was the first time I died. Almost died, maybe. The line gets blurred. But, yeah, I had a friend. I can’t write his name. I know it, but… you can’t. Know it, I mean. But he was kind. And he had a friendly, open face, the kind that makes you wanna ruffle a kid’s hair and tell him it’ll all work out.

He was getting better. I never actually asked what he had - figured it wasn’t my business - but he talked about getting out of there like it was a ‘when’ instead of an ‘if’, so I figured he was either a really, really hopeful sonofabitch, or he was getting good news. Me, I was neither. Facing problems head-on is kinda my thing, but… I couldn’t get out of bed myself sometimes. Had to have someone bring me to the toilet. That does shit to a person.

Yeah, so, he got better, I got worse, you get the picture. Then, I got way worse. End-of-the-line worse. I was aware of people shouting, of hands, of devices, whatever the fuck, but mostly I was just cold. Empty. I could hear my heart stop, but I couldn’t feel much of anything. There was just a sense of inevitability, and a desire to run from it so intense that I was screaming in my mind to get up and… I mean, fucking _run_. I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. I couldn’t. But I wanted to, more than I’d wanted much of anything. I think the whole experience lasted for a few seconds, but I remember hours of thoughts flipping through my head. I got kinda existential and all. It was rough.

And then I was back. And I was fine. Better than fine, I was discharged soon after and never had to deal with anything like it again. It’s funny, I wasn’t… freaked out by the good luck, or even kinda dubious. I was so aggressively happy to be alive, and here, and breathing, that I didn’t stop for a second to think about anything. And why would I? Shit doesn’t work that way. There isn’t a perfect balance, good doesn’t always counteract bad, and people don’t disappear to give kids with heart failure a second chance.

But, when I went in to tell my friend I was okay, his bed was empty. It was made up, too, all neat and shit. Pristine. Like it hadn’t been touched in weeks. I went to the front desk, asked the lady there where the kid in that room had gone, and she asked for his name, so I tried to give it. But I couldn’t. It just… shriveled and died on my tongue, and pushing it out felt like scraping wet concrete against the inside of my mouth. I remembered his name. Hell, I’ll never forget it. But I couldn’t say it.

At my silence, the woman told me that there was no one in that room, and hadn’t been for a long time. I tried to tell her that, no, of course, there was, but… but it wasn’t true. I tried to look for his family, but I couldn’t ask about his name, or look it up, or even think about it too hard without getting a headache. I tried to explain to my parents, but I was young enough that they thought I’d made up an imaginary friend, and only really got worried when I couldn’t tell them his name.

It’s scary, being the only person in the whole world who remembers someone. It’s fucking terrifying. Still, I didn’t make the connection. I didn’t think my recovery and his disappearance were related. Not till 3 years later, when I almost died again.

I don’t feel like going into detail for every single death I’ve ever experienced. I’ve drowned, I’ve gotten sick, I’ve fallen, I even got stabbed in an alley once. The formula’s much the same, either way: I almost die, miraculously make it back to safety, and somebody’s gone when I wake up. Completely gone. I remember every single name, every person that I’ve lost - killed? - but I can’t tell you any of them. Every time, it was someone close to me. Every time, it was like they didn’t exist.

I’m not a total idiot. After the second disappearance, I made the connection. It just seemed so, so impossible. Why me? Why them? I thought about dropping all connections, stopping contacting people, but that wasn’t fair. I couldn’t keep from closeness with, say, my parents, and I didn’t want to damn them the next time I ran into moving traffic by accident. Instead, I tried to do the opposite. I figured, if it was really unavoidable, I’d just get as many people into the danger zone as possible, and let nature run its course. I made friends with all my classmates. I helped out people on the street. I’ve been a personal trainer for years, and I work hard to form a close bond with every one of my students. It sounds harsh, I know, but after a while it got easier. It became simpler to think of it in statistics, because anything else turned your head to mush.

It was a year ago that I met her. She was working as a gymnast, and we started working together. Ironically, she actually was never a real student of mine, she just started working out with me. We trained together a lot. I mean, I spotted her, and gave her tips, but she wasn’t paying me. That’s what I’m trying to say. She was… strong, and powerful, and impulsive. She needed to pace herself, sure, but she was so, so alive. I don’t believe in auras or inherent inner light or whatever other shit, but I know that she made rooms brighter. I couldn’t _not_ fall in love with her, so I didn’t try to stop it. She ran headfirst into love, just like she did with everything else. I’d have taken on anything with her, and I don’t think I would’ve been scared of shit. I didn’t let myself hope that it wouldn’t take her. It wouldn’t have been fair to all the other people I cared about. Still… gun to my head, she might have been my absolute last choice. Didn’t matter, in the end.

We were poking around somewhere that we shouldn’t have been. She wanted to try out urban exploration, and I wasn’t gonna let her do it alone, so I promised myself I’d be careful and followed her into an old, abandoned building. It was supposed to be fun, and, at first, it was; she ran through the halls, reveling in the freedom of it all, laughing so loudly that I figured people outside would probably hear us and call the cops. I wonder if they did.

Her fingers were interlaced with mine when the building exploded.

I felt my entire body separate, atoms slipping away from each other, skin dissolving and muscle tearing, sinew and hair and flesh turning white-hot and melting. Her hand stuck to mine, meat and bone fusing and dripping onto one another, clinging like wax, until there was nothing left of either of us.

I know I died. I know. I felt myself be destroyed. There was nothing left of me but agony and bitter memories and names that tasted like cement when I didn’t say them. It sounds goddamn bleak and dramatic when I write it out, but that’s how it felt.

I hated myself for waking up. I make a point not to hate myself for anything, because life’s too short and all that, but the minute I’d woken up in the hospital, miraculously unharmed, I knew it had happened again.

My parents were there, along with some of my friends, but I still didn’t put together the picture. I think I knew - obviously, I knew - but I didn’t let myself say it until I was sure. Until I tried to ask for her and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

I screamed all night. Nobody could figure out why.

I hate the loss of life. It’s a waste. And I hate thinking that something’s decided my life means more than so many people’s. For most of my life, I’ve drilled it into my own head that nobody’s life means more than anyone else’s. Still, I know for a fact that I would have torn apart a thousand of them if it meant she could’ve lived. It’s an ugly thought, but I stand by it. I know she’d do the same.

I didn’t come here to atone. I don’t even know what I want you to do about it. I don’t wallow too much about my situation. I make a point to look on the bright side: I have a chance to make the world better. I’m not gonna squander it over stupid guilt. If that makes me callous, then I’ll take it with pride. I like life. I’m not done with it yet. I can’t say I’m in love with the solution the universe has presented me with, but if it keeps me alive, I can’t pretend that it isn’t… workable. For now. Especially since I can’t do much about it.

Maybe I just need someone to believe me.

I’m a good person. I help people. That’s why I’m still here. Why I’m here, and they’re all not. It was a test, a competition, and I won.

I’m going to keep winning, even if I win against every person I’ve ever loved and turn their names to churning sidewalk in my lungs. If we ever become friends, I’ll win against you.

Don’t stress too hard about it, bud. I’ll play fair.

Statement ends.

This is… disturbing, to say the very least. It wouldn’t be the first time that The End has created ultimatums of this variety, but I can’t say I’ve seen this approach to coping with it before. I suppose, all things considered, it isn’t bad.

There isn’t much follow-up to do with this statement, considering that most corroborating evidence is entirely lost, but I’m inclined to believe Mr. Nidai. Call it a hunch.

What little I can find - hospital records of a Nekomaru Nidai staying at Kurashiki Central Hospital for a heart condition, then again for burns that seem ridiculously minor for what he claims to have experienced, etc. - lines up. He is telling the truth, about that at least. Without the context of the… ‘forgetting’ of his victims - and I think victims is closer to the right word than he’d admit - I’d be inclined to chalk it up to survivor’s guilt and move on, but this is concerning. I hate the loss of potential clues, and I hate considering that my memory might be missing spots.

I think Nekomaru and I went to the same high school. He was in the year above me, so I didn’t hear from him much. From what I heard, he was… friendly. Easy to like. Easy to be close to. I think a friend of mine once described him as ‘having dad energy’, whatever that means.

I never thought I’d be so glad to have never spoken to someone.

...End recording.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify, the characters are still Japanese. I don’t know if that was a confusion for anyone, but to make it 100% clear here and now, there it is. Kyoko found out they didn’t have a spook research facility in Japan and packed her bags. 
> 
> For the precious few who actually DO listen to the podcast, my girlfriend and I assigned entities to all of the characters one night (it was after I finished season 4 and OH GOD I NEEDED A PICK-ME-UP) and this idea came to me
> 
> You can pry End!Nekomaru from my cold, dead hands (and, likely, you’ll have to). If you want to hear more of the headcanons, hit me up in the comments below!! Again, I doubt there will be a lot of rabid Danganronpa/TMA fans, but just in case!!
> 
> While thinking about this I came to the horrifying realization that, if Kyoko is The Archivist… is Celeste Martin? I mean,,,,,,, they both like tea,,,, (I swear I’m kidding that’s so horribly cursed don’t do that to Martin) (Spiral Martin is a concept that I NEVER want to encounter my god)
> 
> I think that’s about it! Thanks for sticking around, I know this was an odd one.


End file.
